Bid My Blood to Run
by oldshowaddict2015
Summary: For Rhiannon Welch, everything was as it should have been. She worked a normal job, led a normal life. Until she met the Saints. That was the day it all changed for her. She never thought she'd hold a gun. She never thought that she'd fall in love. Hell, she never thought she'd kill anyone. But she did. MurphyxOC. First fanfiction in this fandom. Be nice! No flames! R&R!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: _First_ Boondock Saints fanfiction. I would appreciate it if you didn't give me any flames. I'm a sensitive person and it's bad when I see someone trashing something I get passionate about. Now, I'm all for constructive criticism because that's meant to help you. If you're just going to be rude, I don't even suggest saying anything. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy this! :3

Chapter One

If, for a second, you think I'm lying you might as well not even listen to this damn story. What would be the point in it?

Yes, I know the Saints personally. No, I do not know where they went. Was I involved romantically? Possibly. That's none of your Goddamn business.

But if you must know, I guess I should tell you the whole fucking story. After all, a firsthand account is the best to have.

The story starts with me. Rhiannon Marie Welch. Best friend to David Della Rocco, AKA "The Funny Man". He supposedly was part of the Italian mafia but I never saw what he did in it really. Just ran around delivering messages like a chicken with it's head cut off, that was about it. He tried his best to move up but was stopped at every possible chance.  
At the time, I lived on the poor side of Boston. I couldn't afford anything but cable and a shitty VHS which hardly worked half the time-on a good day, I was able to watch maybe ten or twenty minutes of Ghostbusters or This Is Spinal Tap before it decided to shit out on me. A DVD player? You could fucking forget it. If I could barely afford cable, how the _fuck_ was I supposed to afford a DVD player?  
I was _told_ by many people-mother, father, sister, brother, friends, lovers-that I was a creature of habit. I had a ditch that I liked to walk each day, figuratively speaking of course. My routines were the same each morning. Get up, thirty minute shower, eat breakfast (which usually was whatever I had in my fridge at that particular moment), drink my coffee, get dressed, hair and make up, and then it was off to work. Then a thirty minute lunch break, followed up by at least two to three more hours of working before I was sent home. After that I would walk into my apartment, grab the morning paper, skip the articles and look at the funnies, and go to bed promptly at eight to start the morning over again. I lived what some would call a dull life. To me, that's just how shit was. I never expected anything different.

I liked to wear baggy clothes. They were comfortable and wouldn't cut off my blood circulation. I preferred sweaters that were at least a size too big, so that when it got cold I could be warm. But it seemed, at least as of late, my smallest sweater seemed to be a little loose.

I never dressed up much. I never saw the point in it. Not many guys would cast glances my way (or if they did, I never noticed). My long blonde hair reached my waist, it hadn't been cut in years-I never had the money-and the numbler of split ends that I had were plenty and counting. The most I would do-could do-was braid it.  
My eyes were deep set, the bright emerald green color that peered out from under my long, thick lashes strong enough to draw enough attention and then some. I never saw green as attractive. I hated the color green. Absolutely despised it. But yet, it was staring back at me every time looked in the Goddamn mirror.  
 _How fucking lovely._  
In the spare time that I had outside of my routine, I would play guitar and write stories-namely short stories, of far off lands with princes and princessess, that sort. Some would say it was childish, but it was what I liked to do.  
But enough about me. Let's actually start this damn story.

It began on a day like any for me; for the Irish, today was a day of celebration.  
St. Patrick's Day. March 17, 1999.

I worked at a caffee shop that opened around seven in the morning and closed around eight or nine, depending on the days. There was really only a morning rush, and around noon was when it finally slowed down. At night there were only few visitors that came in and out for their coffee or a muffin. That was about it.

I looked up from the bar to greet the next customer and crossed my arms. Rocco stood there, a shit eating grin on his face.

"Rhiannon."

"Rocco. Whatcha need?"

"You to come with me to McGinty's tonight."

I raised my eyebrows. "McGinty's?"

"It's an Irish bar, okay? Come on. Just one night." He shrugged.

"Rocco..." I sighed, shaking my head. "Look. I get off at seven. I go to bed at eight. At the latest nine. I ain't going out tonight. Go find one of those whores you know."

"I tried, they're out of town."

"Of course they are." I sighed. "What's in it for me?" I crossed my arms.

"I'll buy you a beer."

" _A_ beer?"

"Alright. A round."

"That's better." I nodded and grabbed a coffee cup. "Black?"

"And scalding."

* * *

Walking into McGinty's that night, I was greeted by laughter and yelling from the bar. Two men especially were having a great time, banging their hands on the bar and hooting and hollering like they've just heard the best joke ever. Rocco put an arm around me, keeping me close.

"Hey, fuck-ass, get us a couple of beers!" he told the bartender.

"Fuck-ass?" I looked at Rocco.

"You'll see in a minute." He looked over at the two men at the bar, greeting them with a grin. He took his arm off me as the strangers hugged him the best they could, while a few others patted him on his head. I stood there for a moment, messing with my hands. I felt a little out of place, being the only woman. I wore a green sweater (after arguing with Rocco about the whole damn thing for at least thirty minutes) with a v-neck cut that showed more than enough cleavage, at least for me-I told you, even my tightest sweaters were getting loose- my black jeans, and my old, faded Converse that I wore everywhere since my senior year of high school (and I graduated six years ago).

Rocco's voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Boys, this here is Rhiannon Welch, a dear old friend of mine." He had his arms around the men I had mentioned earlier. "Rhiannon, these are the MacManus brothers. Connor," he motioned to the man on his left. He had brown hair that was a bit wayward, spiking up in places it pleased. Connor smiled, taking his cigarette out of his mouth and putting it out. "And Murphy." Rocco motioned to the man on his right. Murphy's hair seemed to be a tad bit darker than Connor's, though with the dim light it was hard for me to tell. His hair laid flat on his head, though there were few spikes here and there. And his eyes were the bluest I had ever seen on a man-unless you counted Michael J. Fox, who was my celebrity crush growing up (my hopes and dreams of marrying him were dashed when he married Tracy Pollan in 1988).

From what I could tell, the brothers had a tattoo of Mary Magdalene on their necks and on their hands were the words _Veritas_ and _Aéquitas_. _Veritas_ was on Connor's while _Aéquitas_ took residency on Murphy's.

"Hi." I waved.

"How are ya?"

"Nice ta meet ya."

The brothers smiled at me and I smiled back, shyly. They had thick accents. I could say it was Scottish. But I would have been dead wrong.  
I've been to Ireland twice in my life. These men were Irish, through and through. Case closed, motherfucker.

Murphy motioned to my sweater.

"Are ya afraid of gettin' pinched?" He joked.

"What?" I looked at my sweater and remembered that it was a thing on St. Patrick's Day. Don't wear green, you get pinched. "Oh, no. Rocco made me wear it."

"Pickin' out girls' clothing, Rocco?" Connor teased him. "Want to try it fer yerself?"

"No, I don't want to try it for myself. I like helping unfortunates any way that I can."

"Oh, well gee, thanks." I hid my smile the best I could and placed a hand on my hip. Connor and Murphy laughed as I moved to hit Rocco with my purse. When he flinched, I smirked and set it down on the bar.

* * *

The bartender was an elderly man with white hair, combed over to one side, and thick glasses to help him see better. He had Tourette's syndrom, shouting "Fuck!" and "Ass!" at random times, usually one right after the other, hence the nickname "Fuck-ass".

The people left sat at the bar. There were three men to my right, Murphy to my left. Next to him sat Rocco and next to him was Connor. After that, it was a few other men I didn't know the names of.

"Listen, everyone, I've got some very bad news." The bartender addressed us, holding his hand up to quiet us down. "I'm gonna have to close down t-t-the bar." Also, he stuttered a bit. I was used to people with a stutter. My brother's was exceptionally bad. "The Russians are buying up buildings all over the town, includin' this one. _Fuck_! _Ass_!" he turned his head for a moment when he shouted those and then turned back to us. "And they're not lettin' me renew my lease."

There was some disgruntled chattering throughout the small crowd left at the bar. That was a shame. The place was beginning to grow on me, not that I would've mentioned that to Rocco, who would've given me a shit eating grin and started chanting "I told you so!".

I readjusted myself on the bar stool, my leg bumping into Murphy's for half a second. I glanced over at him to see if he had noticed, but if he had he made no sign of it. He probably didn't care.

"Let me talk to my boss. Maybe he can do something." Rocco suggested.

"What the fuck's your boss gonna do?" Connor stared at him as Murphy hit him upside the head.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey. Listen, fellas," the bartender held his hands up again. "I don't want anyone to know. So you keep your traps shut! You know what they say: People in glass houses sink s-s-ships."

I furrowed my eyebrows as laughter erupted at the bar.

"Hey, Doc, I gotta buy you, like, a proverb book or somethin'. This mix-and-match shit's gotta go." Rocco laughed.

"What?" the old man looked a little confused.

"A penny saved is worth two in the bush, isn't it?" Connor smiled. Murphy tapped the bar twice.

"And don't cross the road if you can't get out of the kitchen." He added. The laughter continued.

At least until a door slammed shut and all sound in McGinty's ceased.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Three men walked into the bar, two of them bald with goatees with the third having a full head of hair and a beard. Everyone stood, except for me who had no idea what in the hell was going on.

The big one in the middle spoke first.

"I am Ivan Checkov, and you will be closing now." He spoke slowly, with a thick accent.

Something right then clicked in my head. The Russians.

Fuck.

"Checkov." Murphy put an arm around Rocco. "Well, this here's McCoy. We find a Spock, we've got us an away team." He smirked. Laughter was heard for a moment.

"Me in no mood for discussion." Ivan snapped and pointed at the bartender. "The rest of you, go now."

"Why don't you make like a tree and get the fuck out of here!" the bartender snapped. There was chattering amoungst everyone. Connor grabbed his beer and looked at the Russians.

"You know he's got till the week's end, right? You don't have to be hard-asses, do ya?"

"Yeah, it's St. Patty's Day." Murphy held his beer. "Everyone's Irish tonight."

"Mmm." Connor agreed as he sipped his beer.

"Why don't you just pull up a stool and have a drink with us?"

Ivan stomped his foot like an ill-mannered child, causing me to jump and drop my glass of beer and break it. "This is no game! If you won't go... We will make you go."

"Listen, if you want to fight, you can see you're outnumbered here." Connor started. "We're trying to be civil, so I suggest you take our offer."

"I make the offers." Ivan pointed at himself.

"Hey, Boris." Rocco held his hands up, his forefinger sticking up at the ceiling and his thumbs out, the other fingers were down. He took a few steps, breaking peanut shells along the way. "What would you do," he pointed at the man with both hands. "If I told you your pinko Commie mother sucks so much dick, her face looks like an egg?"

From the bikers, there was laughter. But all Rocco recived in response to his ill-mannered joke was a punch to the face. The brothers glared at him as the bikers seemed to gang up a little bit.

"Fuck you!" Murphy yelled. I got up and hid behind the bar. Both of the brothers spoke-I knew it was them-but I had no idea what they were saying, as they were speaking a different language.

That was when the fight started.

Men yelled, glass broke and pandamonium was everywhere. I looked up as Murphy was alone, with the guy with the full head of hair in front of him about to knock him out, near the wine holder and a few men were going to help him.

"Stay away!" Connor yelled. "He can take care of himself!"

Murphy grabbed two bottles of wine and hit the man over the head with them, causing him to slump over, unconcious.

And that, my friends, was the moment I fell for Murphy MacManus.

The bikers took Ivan down quickly, slamming him to the ground and knocking him out momentarily. The other cueball man I couldn't see, though he too had to have been knocked out. I walked out from behind the bar as the brothers heaved Ivan onto it and tied him down with rope that they had found. Connor grabbed a bottle of alcohol and opened it. With an unlit cigarette in his mouth, he poured the contents of it on Ivan's ass. I sat down next to Murphy, who was lighting his cigarette.

"What's he gonna do?" I asked.

"You'll see." Murphy smirked and turned back to watch his brother, who lit a match.

"He's not..."

"He is."

Connor threw the match onto the puddle of alcohol on Ivan's ass, making him scream in pain.

"Oh my God...!" My hands covered my mouth and I shook my head to clear it.

What the fuck did I just see?

* * *

I walked into my apartment at ten thrity at night, shutting and locking my door. I didn't bother to shower. I didn't bother to change my clothes. I walked into my bedroom and flopped onto my bed, falling asleep instantly.

The next morning, I woke up later than usual. I had no hang over, but I sure as hell felt as if I could have slept more. I looked at my sweater, which was now stained with the dark beer-what was it, Guinness?-that I was drinking last night.

I looked at my clock and hurried out of bed, running to the bathroom to take a shower.

Little did I know, this was the first of many times I would be breaking my habit.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

When I stepped out of the shower was when I heard the banging on my door.

Wrapping a towel around myself tightly, I made my way over, shaking my head.

"Gloria, for the last damn time, I don't have your fucking paper, ask the neighbors!" I yelled before opening my door and screaming in surprise as Rocco hurried in. "The _fuck_?!"

"Don't have time to talk. Hurry up and get dressed." he made his way into my room, as I practically white knuckled my towel to keep it up (though, if I didn't, it still would've stayed up, I'm pretty gifted in the chest area, but I didn't want to take any chances here-I was still soaking wet). I watched as he grabbed a pair of my jeans and looked at my shirts.

"Thanks, Rocco." I walked to the doorway. "Ya gonna look through my underwear and bra drawers too?"

"Only if you take your sweet time." He tossed a red shirt on top of the jeans. "Make sure you get a jacket, it's kinda cold out there." He walked out of my room. I watched him, turning so I could look at him.

"What's this all about?"

Rocco looked at me. "Are you gonna put makeup on, because I think it'd be better if you did. And maybe actually braid your hair."

I raised my eyebrows. "Why?"

"Remember those two Irish guys I introduced you to last night? The twins?"

Ah, yes. Murphy and Connor. Who could forget. "Yes."

"They're in the slammer. Doc called. He told me to get them a change of clothes."

"What happened?" I ran a hand through my damp hair.

"Something with those Russian fucks. Anyway, long story short, it was self defense and they're probably going to get released at some point. I just don't know when." He took his sunglasses off and revealed that he was sporting a black eye where that big bald guy had punched him last night.

"Nice shiner you got there." I smirked.

"Funny." Rocco rolled his eyes and sat down on my couch.

"So... Is there a rush?"

"Eh. Not really. I mean, it'd be nice to get there before lunchtime, so we can get in, or when they're busy with the press." He shrugged.

"The press?"

"Yeah. What, you think two dead guys in an alleyway won't draw attention?"

I ignored his smartass remark and felt the urge to cross my arms but resisted it in fear of my towel faling in the process. "So what the fuck was that?" I asked, referring to the way he just busted into my apartment.

"It woke you up, didn't it?"

I glared and flipped him off, shutting my bedroom door. His laughter was what let me know that he had enjoyed his little joke.

Fucking prick.

* * *

In front of the police department stood a good amount of press, that started talking and clicking their cameras all at once when a cop and an agent made their way out. This agent wore a grey suit with a tan, collared button down shirt what either a very faint light purple or white tie. He seemed familiar to me-then again, everyone does, most likely I watched him on the TV on the news-and I looked over at Rocco who wore his sunglasses to sheild his face. We both carried a change of clothes in our hands. Rocco had Connor's and I had Murphy's.

 _Please, Jesus, let Murphy at least have some underwear on or something._ _I can't handle the sight of him being naked right now_.

"Okay, people, okay." The guard held up his hands. The press shut up. "This is our official statement. The MacManus brothers are not being charged with a crime. This is a clear-cut case of self-defense. They are being released at an undiclosed time and location in accordance with their wishes."

"Do the MacManus brothers have any priors?" A man asked.

"Can we speak to the brothers?" Asked another. The reporters began shouting questions as the guard and the agent began to make their way inside.

"Come on." Rocco whispered and the two of us made our way up the stairs and into the police department, and no one said a damn thing.

We made our way to the holding cells, where Rocco took off his glasses, and started down to the last cell.

"Hey, Rocco, how you doin'?" A man in the cell smiled at him.

"Hey!" Rocco grinned, smiling at him before reached the last cell. In the background, a lock was unlocked as a cop put a man in that cell not the one we were heading to, one in the back).

The first one to see us was with Murphy.

A grin appeared on his face and he slammed his cards down as stood. "Yeah!" He walked to the cell door and opened his arms as Rocco threw the clothes down and hugged him. Okay. So both of the guys wore a robe and boxers and boots. No shirt.

Alright then.

Connor's had a good amount of blood at the top and white bandages were around his wrists. My eyes widened at the sight. He shook his head and gave me a one-armed hug. I smiled a bit. I guess these guys were happy to see other people instead of cops. Rocco started to dig into his shirt as Connor looked over at him.

"What have you got there?" he asked right as Rocco took of two Celtic crosses and handed them to the brothers.

"Ahh." Murphy grinned, grabbing his.

"Very nice." Connor grinned as well and took his. They put them on and the two of them seemed happier than they were before. Murphy made his way over to me as Connor and Rocco started talking (mainly Connor thanking Rocco for the clothes and crosses). I bit the inside of my cheek. _Don't say something stupid, don't you fucking dare_.

"Hey." Murphy smiled a little.

"Hi." I smiled back.

"Those mine?" he pointed at the clothes.

"Ah, yeah. Yeah, these are yours." I nodded. "Yup. Definitely yours."

"Thank you. You didn't have to come."

"I wanted to. Besides, Rocco kind of made me." I shrugged. Murphy chuckled.

"You know..." He said after a moment. "I didn't get the chance to tell ya last night, but... I really liked that sweater on you."

"The green one?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Yeah."

I blinked. "Is it because you're Irish? Because I think a lot of Irish people like green."

At this, Murphy laughed. "No, it's not because I'm Irish. I just think green's a good color on ya, that's all."

I smiled a bit, trying not to blush. "Thank you."

 _Goddammit_.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The day that followed, I was at work when Rocco came in, grinning like the Chesire Cat.

"Black?" I asked, grabbing a coffee cup. He shook his head quickly.

"No, I gotta tell you something. It's important."

I sighed and set the cup down. "Lunch break isn't for an hour."

"That doesn't matter, I'll buy you lunch!"

Eat out? I haven't done that in months. "Janice!" I looked at my manager. "Tell Roberta to cover me now. I'm going out to lunch."

My manager looked shocked for a moment before going to find Roberta.

Habit break #2.

* * *

Sitting in the small resturaunt that I used to be a regular at, Rocco went on and on about how he was sure that this time- _this time_ -he was going to be promoted. Hardly anyone was there, save for a waitress or two that sat in the back and spoke. It was a little place, maybe circa 1950's. The bar stools needed to be replaced, though, that was a damn fact. This was why Rocco and I chose a booth. Still, those seats had some wear and tear.

"So, they said that you'll become like a thing in the mafia now or what?" I kept my voice low and sipped my Coke.

"Well, they hinted at it." He grinned. "They gave me a gun and everything, this is definitely a promotion, Rhi!"

"What do they want you to do?"

"I can't go that much into detail, but long story short," Rocco leaned forward a little. "There's this Russian crime syndicate. They're all meeting at this real fancy place later on tonight."

"What's gonna happen there?" I picked at the rest of my bacon.

Rocco made his hand into the shape of a gun and pointed it at his. "Boom."

My eyes widened. "You're gonna...!" My words trailed off as he nodded. "Can I come?"

"What?"

* * *

"I don't understand why you, of all people, would want to be there." Rocco shut the door to my apartment. I shrugged.

"I've always been interested in this kind of stuff. Remember when Godfather three came out? I went and saw that movie ten times in theaters." I held up a thumbs up and shook it, which was 'ten' in sign language before tossing my blue jacket onto my couch and letting my hair out of the braid.

"I still say it's the worst one." Rocco muttered, lighting a cigarette.

"And I could never join the Italian mafia because, _guess what_ , I'm not Italian. I'm French and Welsh and some other thing." I walked over to him and grabbed his shoulders, shaking them lightly. "Rocco, let's face it. Deep down inside, I'm not who you think I am. I am a butterfly waiting to make it's way out of it's cuccoon. Do you know I've always wanted a tattoo? Have sex?"

"You've never had sex?" His eyebrows shot up.

"And I've always wanted to know what it was like to watch someone get shot. So yeah. I'm a little fucked up in the head. But I'm the _good_ kind of fucked up in the head. Come on, Rocco. What do you say, huh? Can I come with ya? I'll stay out of your way."

"Jesus Christ, girl." He took the cigarette out of his mouth. "I don't know."

"Please, Rocco?" I clasped my hands together. He sighed and shook his head. "Please?"

* * *

I snickered over at Rocco's outfit. He furrowed his eyebrows at me.

"What?"

"Jaffar." I laughed.

We were in the elevator of this really fancy place. The Copley Plaza Hotel they called it. Even the elevator had to have gold in it somewhere.

Rocco wore this ridiculous bellboy outfit that I had to giggle at every time I looked over. It was grey with gold buttons and it looked hilarious on him, like something out of an old cartoon. Me, I wore a maid's outfit which, annoyingly, was low cut. I had to keep pulling it up. (Now, this is low cut as in my boobs are too fucking big for the buttons to meet). On my outfit was the name tag "Elle". I sighed. Hooray.

The elevator dinged and we stepped out, making our way to room 701. When we got there, Rocco looked at me.

"Stay back a bit."

"What do you mean, 'stay back'?"

"Exactly what that means. I don't want you getting hurt. Only come if I'm not out in three minutes." I rolled my eyes. "Okay?"

"Alright." I sighed.

"Thank you." Rocco buzzed the door and I walked back a bit, next to the janitor's closet. I stood there, playing with the gold bracelet my mother had given me when I graduated high school. After two minutes a janitor walked over to get into the closet and started to look me up and down.

"Hey, there." He smirked. My eyes widened and I grabbed the gun from my thigh hoslter and pointed it at him.

"Back the fuck up!" I snapped. The man raised his hands up and backed away, hurrying down the hall. I made my way to 701, and the first thing I saw was blood. Fucking tons on blood. Rocco was on the floor looking bewildered and laughing was heard inside the room. With my gun still pointed, I looked in.

"What a fuckin' idiot!" I heard among the laughter.

Oh my God.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

I walked into the room and saw Connor and Murphy MacManus laughing their asses off at the bar. My jaw dropped.

"What the hell?" I dropped my hands down to my sides, the gun still in my right. The brothers and Rocco all looked at me.

"Hey, didn't know you had back-up." Connor laughed. Murphy raised his eyebrows, staring at the outfit. I cleared my throat, messing with the top with a horrible chance of closing it. The brothers took off their jackets as Rocco stood, looking at all of the dead bodies on the floor or the couches (the majority on the couches).

"Fuckin'- What the fuckin' fuck- Who the fuck-" he started walking back and forth, shocked at the sight. "Fuck this fuckin'-" he started to get a little more crazy. "How did you two fuckin' fucks-" he looked at Connor and Murphy and jumped, his hands waving around crazily in the air. " _FUCK_!"

"Well," Connor said calmly. "That certainly illustrates the diversity of the word." Both he and his brother started cracking up again.

"You did all this?" I walked around the couch, looking at the extra body back there before making my way back around. Connor poured himself something to drink from the bar, smiling a bit in response to my question. I'm taking that as a yes. Murphy cleared his throat.

"Rhiannon." he spoke quietly, tossing me his jacket after he had gotten my attention. I caught it, putting it on and buttoning it, covering myself up. I wrapped my arms around myself, the smell of cheap cologne, Old Spice and cigarette smoke enveloping me. Butterflies exploded in my stomach and I shut my eyes. To some people, it probably wouldn't smell good, but to me it smelled amazing. Just all things Murphy rolled into one.

I heard a disgusted groan come from the bar, and opened my eyes to see Connor shoving his glass away from him.

"That's fuckin' nasty." His face schrunched up. Murphy laughed at his brother's expession. Rocco and I looked at each other. To be perfectly honest, we were still too surprised by the bloodshed that we couldn't say much. Not that it was entirely new to me, I loved gory movies, but to see this shit up close and personal was... A little much.

"Let's get the fuck out of here." Murphy grabbed a black bag and Connor nodded in response. Rocco and I stayed put for a moment before Murphy turned and looked at us. "You coming or not?"

* * *

We sat in Rocco's apartment around a small, circular table. I still wore Murphy's coat, not wanting to give it up. Not like he didn't ask for it back anyway. I'm sure he didn't want it. It was hot in here. I had to put my hair up.

"So... Anybody _you_ think is evil?" Rocco asked as the brothers finished explaining everything. Apparently they had been spoken to or chosen by God Himself to go and kill anyone they believed was evil, like Russian mafia and shit like that. I had to say, it was pretty badass. And they had a knack for it. It's like they were born to do this or some shit.

"Aye." Connor replied, putting the silencer back on his gun.

"Don't you think that's a little _weird_ , a little _psycho_?"

I kept my mouth shut, taking a drag off my cigarette.

"Do you know what I think is psycho, Roc?" Connor lit himself a cigarette. "It's decent men with loving families. They go home every day after work, and they turn on the news. You know what they see? They see rapists, and murderers and child molesters. They're all gettin' out of prison."

"Mafiosos gettin' caught with 20 kilos, gettin' out on bail the same fuckin' day." Murphy set his gun down.

"And everywhere, everyone thinks the same thing-that someone should just go kill those motherfuckers."

"Kill 'em all. Admit it. Even you've thought about it." the darker haired twin pointed at Rocco.

"Shit, I know I have." I muttered.

"See there?" Connor nodded his head towards me. Rocco looked at them for a second before speaking.

"You guys should be in every major city." He said, his attitude changing on the turn of a dime. Connor chuckled, taking a drink of his soda. "This is some heavy shit. This is like "Lone Ranger" heavy, man." he slammed his hand down on the table and hopped up. "Fuck it! There's some much shit that pisses me off!" He snapped his fingers. "You guys should recruit, 'cause I'm sick and fuckin' tired of walkin' down the street waitin' for one of these crack-pipin', ass-wipin', motherless lowlifes to get me!"

"Hallelujah, Jaffar." Murphy smirked a bit.

"You're not just talkin' about mob guys, right? You're talkin' about pimps and drug dealers and all that shit, right?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Fuck... You guys could do this every Goddamn day!"

"We're sort of like 7-Eleven." Murphy clapped his twin on the shoulder. "We're not always doin' business, but we're always open."

"Mmm. That is nicely put." Connor smiled.

"Thank you very much."

"So... Lemme get this straight." I cleared my throat. "You're doing this from now on?"

"That's the plan." Connor sipped his soda.

"And what about your old jobs?"

Murphy shrugged. "We quit."

"This pay is much better anyway." Connor added. I nodded, thinking to myself.

* * *

Later that night, we ordered pizza and chowed down. It was the first time I had had this in a while, and I had three pieces, doing my best not get anything on the jacket. Rocco had decided to put on a mask and try to light a cigarette. But this ultimately failed and he took it off his face, keeping it on his head. He looked at the knife, holding it in his hand as Connor walked back over and snatched the mask off. Rocco turned the knife a bit and looked at him.

"I will fuck you up, dude."

"Like to see you try." I smiled, laughing quietly. A few minutes later, Murphy grabbed his gun and turned on his back, demonstrating how he and his brother fell through the ceiling, though I wasn't really listening, although I did see Connor smack him on the arm. I made friends with the grey and white cat, playing with it and petting it. It had a cute high pitched meow and seemed to follow me wherever I went. I grabbed some string and let it chase it for a while before sitting back down.

"Oh, boy. You fuckin' guys." Rocco muttered. "You ruined me. I'm fuckin' done. Permanent fuckin' package boy."

"Who said that?" Murphy asked him. "You can take credit on that, you know?"

"What, are you serious?"

"Yeah. Fuck it. If you think about it, it's all you can do, really. I mean, you can't go in there and tell him it was us."

"Not unless you want a hit out on them or somethin'." I added.

"Yeah." Connor nodded, agreeing. "Climb the corporate ladder, boy. Don Rocco." The three of us began laughing.

"Fuck it." Rocco said. "I'm doin' it. I deserve it. I've been workin' for those fat bastards since I've been in high school."

"Trust me, I know." I rolled my eyes.

"I mean, look at this fuckin' place. They're fuckin' me, man." he stood, getting more angry. "They can suck my pathetic little dick! And I'll dip my nuts in marinara sauce just so the fat bastards can get a taste of home while they're at it."

"'Pathetic little dick'?" I tried not to laugh, though Murphy and Connor were on the verge of cracking up. Rocco ignored us, still going on his rant.

"Fuck it! I'm doin' it! It is done!"

Rocco slammed his hands on the table and when he did, the gun went off. All four of us jumped back, with me landing on the floor and covering my head. That cat was nowhere to be seen, but a bunch of blood on the wall indicated what had happened to the sweet little thing.

"Shit!" Rocco yelled. "Shit! Shit!"

"Oh, my God!" Murphy exclaimed as he and his brother jumped out of their chairs. I Army crawled to the doorway, standing up when I was done, just in case.

"What the fuck!" Connor stared at the wall.

"I'm hit!" Rocco screamed, jumping up and down.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ!" I hid behind Murphy.

"Lord's fuckin' name!" he muttered, almost automatically it seemed. "Oh, fuck!"

"What the _fuck_!" Rocco yelled. We stood there for a moment before Murphy spoke up and pointed at the wall.

"I can't believe that just fuckin' happened!"

"Is it dead?"

"Oh, my God!"

I stared at Rocco. "Blood and shit is on the wall. There is no meowing. No sign of the kitty. Yes. It's dead!" I shook my head. "It killed my furry little friend."

"We gotta clean this up." Connor shook his head.

"I'll do it." Murphy muttered, going to find the cleaning materials.

"I'll help him. You two sleep or something." I followed him. I heard Connor and Rocco talking for a bit before one of them left the room. Judging by the heavy boots, it might've been Connor.

I walked into the kitchen and over to Murphy, who was looking in the cupboard under the sink.

"I'm not saying this to gloat, but I have plenty of practice getting blood stains out."

"Well that's lovely." Murphy chuckled. I took his coat off and set it down.

"I'm just sayin' that, you know, I can help." I started looking for tubberware. He looked at me.

"What're you doin'?"

I grabbed a bowl and set it on the counter. "The only way we can really get this out is with warm water and soap. Trust me. No amount of carpet cleaner or whatever the fuck it is you're looking for is gonna work. Hell, it might make it worse." I put some soap into the bowl and then filled it with warm water. "Just grab a couple sponges and we're good to go." I told him.

* * *

Connor and Rocco were passed out, sleeping off all of the pizza, booze and sodas we drank while we partied before the poor cat got shot. Murphy and I were still working on the wall. The blood seemed to come off easily at first, but now it looked at if it were all over the wall, thanks to some really fucked washing skills. And the hole was still a matter that had to be addressed and fixed. I saw Murphy stop and toss the sponge into the plastic bowl, which now looked red thanks to the water inside of it. He sighed quietly, scratching his head.

"Something wrong?" I got onto my knees to get a spot I somehow had missed earlier.

"Did ya take a look at Roc's gun at all before he went into that hotel room?"

"No, why?" I put my sponge over the water, squeezing it to clean it out.

"It was a six shooter. There were nine men in that room tonight."

I stopped and looked at him. "What do you think that means?"

"Pretty clear, isn't it? It was a set up. They wanted Rocco dead."

I gaped at Murphy after he told me this. But it all made sense. Nine men. A six shooter. The odds wouldn't have been in his favor, even if I was there.

Holy shit.


End file.
